


Prompt 3: It’s Not Just A River In Egypt

by irrationalgame



Series: Thommy Comfortween Prompts [3]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Comfortween, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Jimmy is an idiot, M/M, Thomas is sad, the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:53:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26800204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrationalgame/pseuds/irrationalgame
Summary: Based on the Comfortween prompts over at: https://hurtcomfortex.dreamwidth.org/22946.html3. It’s Not Just A River In EgyptComforting someone who’s denying that anything is wrong.Thomas is being weird and Jimmy is in denial.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Jimmy Kent
Series: Thommy Comfortween Prompts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949317
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53
Collections: Comfortween 2020





	Prompt 3: It’s Not Just A River In Egypt

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta’d and I have never written so many fics in quick succession so excuse the typos please!
> 
> Also I love everyone who had been reading and commenting on these little fics, it’s much appreciated

To say Jimmy was a self-interested sort of bloke was a bit like saying the Pope was kind of religious. Unless something directly affected the footman, he barely even noticed it happening, let alone wasting energy caring or - heaven forbid - getting involved. The most he ever did was stir the pot a little in the nonsense between Ivy, Alfred and Daisy and he was made to regret his involvement in that too.

It was no surprise then that it took him a while to catch on that anything was wrong with Thomas.

At first, when Thomas has refused cards or going outside for a smoke, Jimmy just thought the under-butler was tired. The upstairs lot had entertained several times over the past couple of weeks and there had been more work than usual, especially for Thomas who’d had to play valet on top of his normal duties. After a week of chasing, Jimmy just stopped asking - it was hurting his pride to be turned down over and over and the shameful, hidden part of him that liked having Thomas’s attention for all the wrong reasons, was aggrieved.

Then Thomas had started to pick at his food, his normal hearty appetite gone, until he was absent from meals more often than he was present. Jimmy tried to convince himself that Thomas was just busy; overworked and perhaps neglecting himself a little because of it. Every time the seat opposite him at the table was empty though, the knot of worry in his stomach grew a little larger, despite Jimmy’s efforts to quash it.

And it seemed as though Thomas was actively avoiding him: their half-days stopped miraculously lining up; Thomas was never in their usual spot in the courtyard; he always left the table immediately after he’d finished pushing his meal around the plate; he went up to bed early every night and he spent any free hours seconded away in Carson’s pantry, pouring over inventories and wage logs and budgets any other excuse he could find.

It had crossed Jimmy’s mind that Thomas had _moved on_ \- that he’d finally realised what a worthless shite Jimmy actually was and decided to take his affections and his friendship elsewhere. But the hollow ache the thought had caused in Jimmy’s chest was unbearable, so he’d pushed the idea as far into the back of his mind as he could and pretended he’d never thought of it in the first place.

Because everything was fine and dandy, thank you very much.

It all came to a head on a dull Wednesday afternoon - which also happened to be Jimmy’s half-day. As the footman walked up the staff staircase, trying to decide how to spend his afternoon _alone_ , he realised he hadn’t seen Thomas all morning, not even to serve upstairs breakfast and lunch. It wasn’t the under-butler’s half-day - Jimmy knew that, he’d checked - so perhaps he was sick? Nothing had been mentioned over breakfast, but it wasn’t as though Carson or Mrs Hughes shared notes with a lowly footman anyway.

Jimmy stopped outside Thomas’s room, unsure for the first time in months whether he would be welcome or not, when he heard muffled sounds coming from inside. After a quick look up and down the corridor to check he wasn’t being watched, Jimmy pressed his ear to the door.

Thomas was definitely in his room and he was, for want of a better word, _weeping_. Jimmy’s stomach lurched at the sound, the knot of worry now boulder-sized and leaden. Jimmy had been so preoccupied with convincing himself that everything was fine, he’d missed the fact that it really, really _wasn’t_.

Jimmy took a deep breath and pushed open the door - Thomas was in his undershirt and trousers, sitting on his unmade bed, his head bowed over as great sobs shook his shoulders. He shot up at the sound of Jimmy entering his room uninvited and scrubbed ineffectually at his face with the back of his hand. Jimmy had never seen him look so undone, not even after _The Incident_.

“Jimmy - what are you - get out of here,” he said, the sobs he was trying so hard to suppress punctuating his speech.

Jimmy closed the door and took a wary step towards the under-butler. “Thomas, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing - I’m fine,” Thomas lied, “just get out will ya.” And he turned away, one hand steadying himself on the metal bed frame as his shoulders heaved up and down with the effort of holding back his tears.

“Oh, well I know I tend to cry whenever I’m fine, so that’s that then,” he took another slow step towards Thomas, his hands out in front of him in a placating gesture, as if Thomas were a skittish horse and liable to bolt at any moment.

“I - I - I don’t want you to see me like this,” Thomas said, his voice breaking, “ _please_ Jimmy.”

“No,” Jimmy said - he was finally close enough to reach out and touch Thomas. “I’m staying,” he said as he put a consoling hand on Thomas’s shoulder. The under-butler span around and grabbed Jimmy’s upper arms as if he meant to shove Jimmy away, but Jimmy caught Thomas’s wrists and they struggled for a moment.

“Let me go will you, I don’t want you here!” Thomas raved, “you bloody arrogant little shite!” But his attempts to break free were weakening and his words were swallowed up by sobs once more.

“Shh, come here,” Jimmy said and Thomas let himself be drawn into Jimmy’s arms. Jimmy put his own discomfort at the intimacy aside - because that’s what being a friend means - and held Thomas as he cried. The dam inside Thomas had broken and nothing could stop the flood of his tears until they ran themselves dry.

Eventually Thomas’s sobs reduced to a quiet sniffling. Jimmy had no idea how much time had passed, but it had been long enough that his back had started to ache from practically holding Thomas upright. Thomas finally pulled away, embarrassed, and Jimmy gave him his handkerchief to mop his blotchy face. They sat next to each other in silence on the edge of Thomas’s bed for a long moment - Thomas fumbled in his trouser pocket for his smokes and lit two cigarettes with trembling hands. He handed one off to Jimmy without meeting his eye.

“So,” Jimmy started, “are you going to talk to me or are you going to continue to be a complete bastard about it?”

Thomas’s head snapped up, his eyes red-rimmed. “What?”

“Well, whatever the problem is, it must have something to do with me,” Jimmy explained.

“Because the whole world revolves around James Kent.”

Jimmy ignored the snarky comment and continued; “I thought I was imagining it y’know, convinced meself everything was alright an’ me best mate didn’t hate me all of a sudden. But clearly,” he gestured to Thomas’s current state, “denial’s not just a river in Egypt.”

“I don’t hate you,” Thomas replied quietly, “I could never.”

“Then why have you been pushin’ me away? An’ avoiding me like I’ve caught the bloody plague?”

“Because I like you.”

Jimmy frowned; “You’ve been sendin’ me to Coventry because...you like me? Well that makes perfect sense, glad we got that sorted.”

Thomas looked away, his untouched cigarette ashing on the bedroom floor. “Because I like you too much Jimmy and it bloody hurts sometimes, that’s why.”

“Oh.” The ache returned to Jimmy’s chest.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Thomas continued, “you’re my best and only mate Jimmy, I couldn’t do without you but - but...”

“Tell me,” Jimmy took Thomas’s gloved hand and squeezed.

Silence for a beat as Thomas stared at their joined hands, then; “Having you so close all the time, I just - I get to thinking stupid things that could never be, things I can never have, and then I feel bloody guilty for even thinking them and - ah,” he took a hitching breath, as if he might break down again.

“Tell me.”

“You don’t want to know Jimmy, you’d - you’d probably punch me, and I’d deserve it.”

“I won’t,” Jimmy squeezed Thomas’s hand again, “I promise. And I can handle it Thomas; I’m not some bloody squeamish _girl_.”

Thomas sighed and stared out of his bedroom window - it had started to rain and great heavy drops were splattering on the leaded pane. “I see Bates and Anna, and Carson and Mrs Hughes and - and this _is_ pathetic - even Baxter and Molesley, and I’m jealous Jimmy. I want - I want what they have and I’ll never,” he shook his head, “even if I found someone who wanted me I’d never be able to have _that_. And sometimes I let myself imagine a world where it’s alright and no one cares who I love and - and you and me have this cottage like the Bates’s have and after we’ve finished work we go there and smoke and drink cups of tea sitting in front of the fire and,” he took a long, stuttering drag on his cigarette, “an’ it’s boring and domestic and god, I want it so much I could _die_.”

Jimmy’s head flooded with images: himself and Thomas curled up by the fire, Thomas reading one of his books, Jimmy fiddling with a deck of cards or just resting his head against Thomas’s shoulder; and their bedroom with a big brass-framed bed and countless blankets and their bodies warm and sleep-soft under the covers. It filled his body with a longing like he’d never known.

When people asked Jimmy what he wanted from life he’d always said adventure, travel, parties, _women_ \- but it was a pretty speech he trotted out to avoid the truth - that he didn’t know what he wanted and that he never really expected to amount to much anyway. But now he was certain - he wanted this - he wanted Thomas’s dream. He wanted, well, _Thomas_.

Thomas, who he’d treated like shite for a year, who’d taken a beating for him, who liked his piano playing and laughed at his jokes and had saved his job more times than he could remember, and who knew what a complete and utter arse Jimmy really was, and who loved him anyway.

“Bollocks,” Jimmy said and Thomas turned, his face pale, his eyes wide with surprise.

“What?”

“That’s a load of old drivel is what,” Jimmy said, “you _can_ have that, if it’s what you want.”

Thomas shook his head; “How?”

“Carson’s getting on now, the old git can’t carry on forever and when he retires you’ll be butler. Maybe his lordship will let us have a cottage, maybe we’ll have to save up for it ourselves, but I’m sure we could do it with a Butler’s wage.”

Thomas blinked. “What - wait - _we_?”

“I supposed you could give me a pay rise once you’re in charge too,” Jimmy mused.

“Jimmy, I think I’ve missed something here, or I’m misunderstanding you or...”

“Bloody hell, catch up will you?” Jimmy took Thomas’s face in his hands, looked him straight in those ridiculously gorgeous blue eyes and said; “If you want that future - if you want to grow old and fat and bald with me - you can have it. So stop moping around like an arsehole.”

Thomas huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “Well, when you put it like that, how could I refuse?”


End file.
